


Cafe Au Écoute

by littlesystems



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Eavesdropping, M/M, Sibling bickering, Steve sketches to ignore everyone, disaster gay Bucky, overdramatic Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesystems/pseuds/littlesystems
Summary: No matter where Steve goes, there's always the chance that he'll overhear a conversation about himself - or rather, Captain America. This coffee shop is no different. The fact that hekeepseavesdropping well past the point of plausible deniability is another matter entirely.





	Cafe Au Écoute

**Author's Note:**

> The title is supposed to mean "coffee and eavesdropping" but google translate insists that it means "coffee listens." 
> 
> I do not speak a word of French, so to anyone who knows better: please critique my title.

Steve is sketching slash people-watching at his local coffee shop when he hears someone say "Captain America."

Steve sighs internally. When he got here, he had picked a table tucked away in the corner, and had kept his baseball cap pulled low to cover his face, but sometimes nothing can deter the eagle-eye of a committed fan. Instead of scowling, he puts on his best press-ready face and takes a quick glance around the room. He can only hope that whoever spotted him will be happy with a quick selfie and an autograph, and that they _won't_ draw the entire cafe's attention in doing so. He's already had to change his regular coffee shop twice because of unwanted attention, and he had hoped to keep this one in his rotation for longer.

Weirdly, there's no one looking in his direction.

Tapping the end of his pencil against his sketchbook, Steve tries to discreetly look around the room. The shop isn't overly busy - while it's only April, the warm weather came early this year, so the shop is far less bustling than it is on colder days. The two baristas are both fiddling with the coffee machines behind the counter, and they know him well enough to leave him alone, anyway. There are four people sitting at the counter, but they're all absorbed in their laptops and don't appear to be talking to one another. There are a few couples that look like they're on dates. No one jumps out at Steve as the one who noticed him.

Steve has just turned back to his sketch when he hears his name again - and this time, he hones in on a couple sitting on the opposite side of the room.

"The whole thing was bullshit. I don't know why I even bother," the man says, cradling a coffee mug in his hand. The two of them make a striking pair - the man looks to be in his late twenties, with longish brown hair and an attractive layer of stubble, while the woman looks to be a few years younger, with chestnut brown hair hanging down her mid-back. They sit tucked together with easy familiarity that's obvious from across the room.

"Because you're a giant nerd, that's why," the woman says, and kicks the man under the table.

"Seriously though," he says, "did you actually watch it?"

"Eh, some of it. I don't really care that much about Captain America, but I knew you would be all over it."

Well that answers that question - they're talking about the interview Steve gave that aired last night. They probably haven't noticed him at all. Steve turns back to his drawing, now that he's not worried about being accosted by a fan, but he can't quite tune them out knowing that they're talking about him.

"It was stupid and embarrassing," the man says.

Thankfully no one's looking at him, because Steve can feel himself making a face even though he's trying not to. He tried his best to make the interview decent, but the interviewer only wanted to ask dumb, fluffy questions more suited to a movie star than a soldier. A common occurrence, but it's so damn frustrating _every time._

"It's like the interviewers always forget that he's not just a dancing monkey, he's actually one of the greatest tactical minds of the twentieth century," the man continues. "It's like they see him as this weird combination of a chorus girl in thigh-highs, their grandpa, and a literal walking, talking, American flag. It's ridiculous. I don't know _how_ he puts up with it."

Steve pauses his drawing and glances back up at the pair, surprised. He's not sure _what_ he was expecting the man to say, but that? Wasn't it.

"Gracefully?" the woman says.

"So gracefully! If I were him, I would be throwing elbows, but he just gets that look, you know?"

"Nope," the woman says, judgement in her tone, "because I don't spend my time staring at Captain America's face the way you do."

"You know what? You can keep your opinions to yourself, with that attitude."

The woman settles back into her chair and takes a sip of coffee.

"I think he handled it fine, from what I saw," she says.

"Of course he did, he's a goddamn professional. But did you listen to any of the actual questions they asked him? They're always complete nonsense like 'what's your favorite thing about America' or 'have you seen Star Wars? Do you see yourself as more of a Han Solo or a Luke Skywalker, tee hee hee,' completely ignoring the fact that he literally still works for some alphabet agencies saving the world. And I get that they can't report on that stuff, but still. It's bad."

"What was his answer?"

"Hmm?"

"Which Star Wars character does he think he is?"

"Oh, Leia Organa."

"Yeah, I can see that," she says.

"Right? Tiny whirlwind of righteous energy that loves the world for what it could be, and _should_ be, who jumps headfirst into danger to do the right thing, regardless of personal cost? Damn straight."

"Not to step on your Captain America opinions, but I would hardly describe him as 'tiny.'"

The man shrugs.

"He was tiny when he tried to join the army a million times, and when he signed up for the super soldier project. And if you think about it chronologically, _we_ think of him as having been Captain America for 70 years, but in his own life it's only been, like, a year and a half."

Steve swallows, throat oddly dry. Not many people realize that about him, even though it seems like every moment of his life is a part of the public record. It's weird, hearing a candid conversation about himself, particularly that's quite so...

So...

Well, suffice to say that Steve didn't expect this, when he set out this morning.

"I suppose that makes sense," the woman says after a pause. She picks at her cinnamon roll, carefully unwinding it and then tearing it into bite-sized pieces. "Have you ever considered writing an angry letter to the station? _Excuse me_ ," she says, adopting a mock-serious tone, " _but I deeply disapprove of the way your network portrays Captain America and would like to register a complaint._ "

"Don't even tempt me! Nothing says I'm a Real Adult™ like writing an angry letter to a television station. I think that's even worse than asking to talk to the manager."

Steve frowns. The man had put special emphasis on the words 'real' and 'adult' - as opposed to fake adults? - and Steve doesn't know what 'TM' is supposed to indicate. He jots the letters down on the corner of his sketchpad. TM? Tee em? He'll have to look that up later.

"I heard that Rogers kept trying to bring the interview around to actually important subjects," the man continues, "but they kept going back to their terrible fluff questions, and then they just cut the footage of him saying anything actually meaningful."

That rumor is actually true. Steve had tried to talk about the importance of free speech and protecting the free press, wasteful military spending, and the epidemic of homeless veterans, but none of that had made it into the footage that was aired. He had no idea that the truth turned into a rumor, for once, rather than something completely random.

"But enough about that, I know you didn't come down here to hear me rant about Captain America."

"I mean, not gonna lie, I kind of did..."

"How's organic chemistry going?"

"Ugh," the woman replies, disgust evident in her tone, "it's kicking my ass, and the professor was clearly chosen by the devil himself. One of his reviews on rate my professor is like 'I don't look both ways before crossing the street because I would rather be hit by a car than go to his class,' or something like that. And yeah. Real talk. Don't even get me started or I'll just pterodactyl scream for like, an hour."

The man laughs.

"All right, all right, no organic chemistry." He sets his coffee cup down and runs a hand through his hair. "Any boys in your life for me to threaten?"

With that, Steve turns back to his drawing and tries to focus intently on shading. If they've stopped talking about him, eavesdropping goes from reasonable to kind of creepy.

"Don't even think about it, buster."

(Tuning them out is easier said than done. Steve's been picking their voices out of the crowd for a while, and his super-soldier hearing doesn't just turn off.)

"What about you?" she says, challenging, "do _you_ have any boys in your life?"

Okay, so the pair is very clearly _not_ a couple. Siblings, maybe? Steve risks another glance and sees the man make a face at his companion.

"Not since Todd," he replies, tone flat.

"F that guy," she says, rolling her eyes. "But that was like, nine months ago."

The man shrugs.

"You have to put yourself out there!"

"Becks..." he says, rubbing a hand over his face. "I dunno. It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be."

"It kind of does."

"Bucky." She says his name in that soft, sad tone people get when they're talking to someone _damaged._ Steve knows - he hears it a lot. The woman - Becks? Becky, maybe? - leans across the table and puts a hand on his, and then talks in a much quieter voice while he nods like he's heard it all before.

(Steve could still eavesdrop on what she's saying, but he would have to _try,_ and that seems like much more of a violation.)

The man - Bucky - looks increasingly uncomfortable, until finally the woman sits back.

"Yeah, I will," Bucky says, unconvincing even to Steve from across the room.

"I'm serious! Download Grindr or something."

Bucky mock-gasps and puts a hand to his chest, clutching imaginary pearls.

"My baby sister, pure and innocent as the driven snow, telling me to go on _Grindr?_ What is the world coming to? And I hate to break it to you, but Grindr isn't exactly the place you go to date someone."

Steve carefully writes _grinder?_ on his notepad, underneath _TM._

The woman rolls her eyes. "I know that, you tool. I'm just saying, it's better than holeing yourself up in your apartment and critiquing Captain America interviews and like... writing letters to the editor."

Bucky screws up his face in a comedic expression of doubt.

"Is it? Is it really?"

"It's a start."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly hookup material anymore."

That, at least, is slang that Steve knows from Tony. That doesn’t make sense - from where Steve's sitting, he can't see anything about Bucky that _isn't_ hookup material. The guy is gorgeous, to be frank, and sweet, and funny, and clearly cares a lot about his so-called 'baby' sister. Steve can tell how blue his eyes are from all the way across the room. _And_ he keeps biting his lip in a really distracting way. Granted, Steve can barely follow their conversation, but still. Honestly, the only thing that Steve can think of is that he has the meaning of 'hookup' wrong, so he pencils it in underneath 'TM' and 'grinder.'

"Bucky." The woman says, tone firm and face serious.

"I know, I know," Bucky says, waving his hand dismissively. "It's whatever."

She sighs - again - and looks at him searchingly - again.

"All right, fine. Have I told you about how my roommate almost burned down the entire building last week?"

Bucky shakes his head and she's off, describing her roommate's failed attempt at making something called 'easy mac.' Steve tunes out of the conversation (finally), letting the rest of the coffee shop noise filter back in. Instead, he flips to a fresh page and tries to capture the expression on the man's face as he listens to his sister's story. A small smile plays around his lips and he seems to be genuinely enjoying her presence, but there's something lingering around his eyes that Steve recognizes from looking in the mirror. Steve sketches quickly: jaw, eyes, nose, mouth. After he finishes, Steve draws him again, this time including the table and his sister, waving her cup around in emphasis as the describes the 'hot firemen, my god, it's like an FDNY prerequisite or something.'

Eventually, she stretches and says "I should probably get going, if I want to actually pass my classes."

"A noble goal."

"You headed in that direction?" she asks.

Bucky glances around the shop and Steve ducks his head - the last thing he wants is to get caught staring, particularly by someone who will definitely recognize him. The coffee shop around them is pretty calm; just enough bustle to not be uncomfortably quiet, but not so busy that Steve feels guilty for hogging a table.

"Eh, I think I'll hang out here for a little while longer."

Steve finishes up the finishing touches of his second sketch while listening for the rustling noises of maybe-Becky gathering her things and putting her jacket on. One chair squeaks across the floor, and then another, and Steve peeks up just enough to see her pull Bucky into a tight hug. Bucky wraps his right arm around her, and Steve has half a second to judge the stranger for not giving his sister a real hug - because _one-armed bro-hugs (thank you, again, Tony)_ are a pathetic example of toxic masculinity - when Bucky twists and Steve sees his left sleeve pinned neatly at the shoulder.

“Don’t forget to call mom,” maybe-Becky says as she pulls back. “You know she worries.”

The arm probably explains the ‘hookup’ thing, the sad eyes, and the words of encouragement.

When she leaves, Bucky sits back down, but less relaxed than before.

Steve looks down at his sketchpad, then back up at the slump of Bucky’s shoulders. He’s not holding himself as confidently as he was when his sister was sitting across from him. Is that because he’s more secure with her around, or because he tries harder to _look_ like he’s okay when she’s around?

Talking to a fan is probably a bad idea, but when has Steve ever avoided doing something potentially dangerous?

 

 

 

A man sits down in Becca's vacant seat, and Bucky fully intends to tell the guy to move along, regardless of whatever promises he just made Becca about being more sociable and putting himself out there, when he notices three things about the man in quick succession.

First, that he's _hot._ Hot as hell, with pretty blue eyes and floppy blond hair and a jawline that could cut diamonds.

Second, that he looks kinda familiar.

And third...

"Oh my god."

Bucky gapes at Steve Rogers, sitting across the table from him at Bucky's neighborhood cafe. His brain short-circuits for a moment, every useful thought he's ever thunk blue-screening out of his mind, when the _extremely obvious thing_ becomes so painfully apparent that he could smack himself: Captain America has super-hearing, Bucky had been _talking about him,_ and Bucky hadn't exactly been trying to keep his voice down. Why would he? It's not like anyone at this random coffee shop should care about Bucky's weirdly invested opinions about Captain America.

Except for when _Captain America himself_ is _here_ and _listening._

What are the odds?

What is Bucky's _life?_

Part of Bucky wants to jump up and flee for the door, but the other part wants to stay, say _something, anything, open your mouth and stop staring like a goddamn lunatic._ When will Bucky ever get this kind of chance again? _Captain America_ is _sitting at his table_ and looking at him with this little grin on his face, like he knows everything that Bucky is thinking right now.

He can't though, right? He may have superpowers, but he's not telepathic.

Is he?

_Oh god, is he??_

Bucky has to say something. He has to.

He opens his mouth, and the words just... tumble out. Completely uncontrollably. Like... like... like a box of slinkies dumped down the stairs. Like a box of bouncy balls dumped down an elevator shaft.

(Okay, so Bucky isn't exactly good at metaphors. Similes. _Whatever._ He doesn't normally have _Captain America_ sitting there, _looking at him,_ with those perfect eyes and that perfect forehead wrinkled with a cute little furrow because every word that's coming out of Bucky's mouth is a _goddamn unmitigated disaster._ )

It's like Bucky is watching the scene unfold with no ability to stop it whatsoever. It's like Bucky's not even there. He's at home, tucked away in bed - he must be, because this is a _nightmare_. He's talking about that stupid interview he watched last night, but instead of being coherent and smart and insightful like he was with Becca, he's just stuttering through words that he wants to snatch back into his mouth, but to his absolute horror, he _can't_.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Steve Rogers says with a crooked smile, and then Bucky's off again, talking about superpowers and how great powers come with great responsibility and that Steve's welcome to eavesdrop on any conversations ever, because _America,_ or something.

Why can't he stop talking?

_Why can't he stop talking??_

To his continuing and ever-evolving horror, he tries so hard to steer away from superpowers and superheroes that he somehow drives the conversation _straight_ into that story from summer camp when he was twelve and thought that it would be a good idea to talk all the other campers into going for a midnight hike through the woods, even though everyone knew damn well that they weren't allowed outside of their bunks after lights-out, and how they would have gotten away with it if Craig hadn't chickened out halfway through and run back to camp to tattle on them _like a loser._

(Why is Bucky still talking? _Why is Bucky still talking??)_

But Steve doesn't say anything to interrupt the torrent of words, unless saying stuff with his face counts - which Bucky thinks it doesn't, even though Steve has a very expressive face with some truly beautiful expressions, because if Steve was saying stuff it would mean that Bucky would have to _stop_ saying stuff, but Steve's _not_ so Bucky _can't._

_Stop talking. Please, for the love of god, stop talking._

Bucky does not stop talking.

Instead he careens from tales of summer camp into Highlights of Bucky's Most Embarrassing Moments, Circa 1996 to Present, because why not? It's not like Bucky has any dignity left. It's not like Bucky ever wants to be able to show his face in the city of New York again. It's fine. He's been wanting to live in a shack in the woods approximately one million miles away from any other human being that's ever inhabited the world. He can pull a Cast-Away, make friends with a nice rock or something - something that won't judge him for being the biggest idiot that ever idiot-ed in the face of a celebrity, and really, other people must have done more embarrassing stuff than this, right?

_Right??_

After approximately one hundred thousand years of Bucky making more of a fool out of himself than he _ever_ would have thought possible, he finally manages to shut himself up by smacking a hand over his blabbering mouth and closing his eyes in shame. He angles his body slightly, hoping that Captain America hasn't noticed the empty sleeve pinned up under his left shoulder, even though he surely _has_ noticed, because how could he not? Is that why he came over here? No, that can't be it - Bucky's left side is up against the wall, only visible if you're sitting directly in front of him, like Steve is now.

"Please just leave me here to die," Bucky garbles out from under his hand, eyes still closed.

Bucky listens for the sound of Steve getting up and walking away, but it doesn't come.

"I'm sorry," Steve fucking Rogers says. "I didn't mean to ambush you."

"It's fine," Bucky says, taking his hand off of his face but keeping his eyes firmly closed, _thank you very much._ "I'm sorry for that horrifying display of social ineptitude."

Steve laughs softly.

"It was cute."

Bucky blinks his eyes open, because where has Steve _been_ for the last god-only-knows-how-long? Has he _witnessed_ this train wreck?

(Bucky is un-moored and time has become meaningless in this hellish landscape of his own making.)

"Can I get you another cup of coffee?" the actual real-life Captain America asks him.

"That would be -" a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing. An awful idea. An obviously dangerous proposition, if Bucky ever wants to stop being tomato-red and grossly sweaty ever again in his _entire life._ "- great, thanks."

Steve smiles at him and Bucky is just _gone._ How could _anyone_ say no to that smile?

"I'm Steve, by the way."

"Yep," Bucky says, nodding. "I've noticed. That. Obviously." An awkward pause descends before Bucky's brain finally kicks in enough to say, "I'm Bucky."

Captain America probably knows that already, because Captain America has probably overheard way to much of his conversation and Bucky has to go crawl into a hole and die now, thanks.

Steve smiles again and his eyes go all crinkly.

"Bucky," he says, like he's testing it out. "I feel like there must be a story behind that name, but I'm gonna go grab us a couple of coffees first. Then maybe you can tell me about it?"

"Okay," Bucky says faintly.

Sure. Why not.

There's no force on earth powerful enough to stop Bucky from ogling Steve as he levers himself out of the chair and walks up to the counter. Not his embarrassment, not the baristas who are probably laughing at him, _nothing._ That butt is a work of _art._ That hip-to-soldier ratio should be illegal.

Becca is never, _ever_ going to believe this.

Steve orders, friendly with the barista, and then he glances over at Bucky from the corner of his eye.

(He _definitely_ catches Bucky ogling. Whatever. It’s fine. Things can’t actually get any worse, so…)

Bucky manages to dredge up a smile in response and they hold eye contact for long enough that a frisson of heat runs through Bucky's body and a blush burns across his cheeks.

Is he being hit on? Is Captain America _hitting on him??_

The barista catches Steve’s attention with the finished coffee, and then Captain America is walking back to Bucky’s table, coffee in each hand.

“I just realized that I didn’t ask if you wanted cream or sugar,” he says, gently depositing the mugs on the table. He doesn’t sit back down. Waiting, Bucky realizes, for a response about the coffee.

“Black is good. I like it black,” Bucky says eloquently.

“So,” Steve says, sitting back down. “Are you gonna tell me the story behind your name?”

And you know what?

Bucky opens his mouth, for the millionth time this afternoon, and does.

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly wrote this as a writing exercise - half a conversation of real dialogue, half a conversation with virtually no dialogue.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://littlesystems.tumblr.com), [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/littlesystems), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/little_systems)!


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